Of grief, peace and comfort

Another note: I still plan to write Part Two of Drop Your Shovel, because, actually, I think it will be the better part. However, life things keep coming up.

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My family experienced yet another letdown yesterday in this roller coaster journey we've been taking.

We had such high hopes for a more comfortable life after the psychiatrist took Mom off all those medications. Within a day of that happening, she became responsive. We saw some of her personality again, and we experienced moments of lucidity with her. (Some of those moments are heartbreaking, though, because we hear things like, "Why am I like this?" and "I don't want to be weird," and "I don't want ... I don't want ...")

We also pretty quickly reverted to the overly anxious, inconsolable mother who believes bad things are happening to her family, people are dying, and men with guns surround her. She lives in an almost constant state of terror. (These symptoms are common, by the way.)

This behavior led to the original medication overload.

But all we want for my mother —if there is any quality of life left for her at all — is a balance between those two extremes.

I found out yesterday there might not be one. This might be it, for the rest of her life and ours in caring for her.

I had known from the neurologist that nothing can be done for her brain "hardware." He told us the only thing to do at this point is to make her more comfortable by addressing the "software" problems. That's where the psychiatrist has come in.


However, the psychiatrist said treating the symptoms caused by the dementia process is not at all the same as treating the same symptoms caused by mental illness (delusions, hallucinations, etc.). He said this approach only overly sedates patients. We definitely saw that.

He flatly said, when I asked about balance, "that is the big question mark."

I really did not want to hear that. In fact, I was unprepared for such a major disappointment.

After that appointment, I could not control my tears. I had to spend more time away from my mother than with her. She doesn't need to witness my grief. Frankly, neither does my dad.  He felt his own disappointment and sadness, too.

Many people consoled me yesterday with promises of prayers and good thoughts. I greatly appreciate that.  A few friends also told me I might just have to accept that no solution exists.

Maybe. So, I am continuing, as I have all along, to pray that God will daily, hourly, by the minute, shower both of my parents with comfort and peace.

And Kim and me, too.